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Thursday, April 19, 2018

Are You From Ohio?

Sunday - Day 9 - continued

There's one spot open for blackjack at the Plaza, and I sit down and buy in for a measley $40, to see what I can do with it. About nine seconds later, I am accosted verbally. The shouting, spinning, out of control man I had spotted earlier, and planned to avoid, is shouting at me.

"HEY. Are you from Ohio???"

The table is quite a mix of guys. All guys, many smokers, different walks of life. One or two seem to be friends with each other. On my left is an interesting-looking guy, big beard, kind of a biker slash hipster. And on his left is a very, very drunk player.

He's wearing a green shirt, emblazoned with Main Street Station on it. Clearly, he finished a shift early this morning, walked to the Plaza and proceeded to drink himself stinko and collect a mound of green and black chips.

"Where are you from, are you from Ohio?"

"Nope," I say, which I figure is the minimum. I look down at my chips.

He starts with the guy on the end of the table, to my right, and goes down the line. "Are you from Ohio?...Are you?... How about you, you from Ohio?"

He asks me again and I say, "Nope." He asks the guy on my left and then the last two guys, plus the dealer.

"Are you from Ohio?... Anybody? No?... OK, FUCK OHIO!!!!!!!"

The table roars, me included.

The green-shirted drunk has all the hallmarks of a drunk green-shirted guy. He bets using a sort of random approach, picking up a few chips, letting a few drop, picking up a few more, looking at them, putting them out in the betting circle - and then maybe at the last second taking some back or throwing more on top.

Mega keno, eh? Hmmm...maybe another long-term goal?
His stacks are a jumble, green, red and black mixed, but mostly green. I figure he has about $800 to $1000 in chips. He stacks them from time to time, and then knocks them over by mistake. His cigarette hangs around, going from ashtray to mouth and back again, except it has gone out long ago. Occasionally, he tries to light it with fumble-hands, and fails. He's loud, but he's funny. And he has a tendency to jump up out of his chair.

We play a few hands and the drunk guy walks that fine line between being a jokester, and being the joke. Many times the other players exchange knowing looks or shaking their heads slightly but other time, we are all thoroughly entertained by him, and on his side on tough hands.

He puts out a big stack of chips, and a handful of reds and whites for the dealer.

"Okay baby-girl, this is it - gotta... what's your name baby-girl? Here we go. You married?" She deals, with a slight smile, plays it cool.

The cards come out and he's in a double situation.

"OHHHH MANNN!!! Okay, gotta do this, don't do this to me baby-doll, don't do it... " He painstakingly counts out the double bet, and doubles the bet for the dealer, and the dealer squares everything. He stands up. He sits down. He tries to light a match.

He wins and jumps up, "I knew it! I knew it!!! Thank you girl, you're my GIRL!" Then he hugs the biker hipster, and the guy on the other side. "My boys! We did it, you're my family, my brothers!"

Biker hipster doesn't seem to mind being hugged, he just laughs.

We play on, and the drinks keep coming to him. Sometimes he says something that he realizes is odd, not knowing everything he says is odd, and apologizes profusely to the dealer. And then tips her.

On one hand, biker hipster hesitates for a long time, and finally takes a card and busts, and it causes our green-shirted friend to get the card he needs to make 21. He wins, jumps up, hugs the biker hipster, and then he tips him. Two or three reds. We all just laugh, and biker hipster keeps it.

Something green shirt likes happens on the next hand and he tips the whole table, a red $5 chip for each of us. We are just laughing and looking around at each other like, what the fuck is going on here?!

Green shirt is digging into his stacks and some big bets are going out. And he's winning. And winning. It almost doesn't matter what crazy stuff he does, he keeps winning and hugging everyone.

I do fairly well for myself, never really going below my buy-in. Someone leaves and someone else takes their place.

"Are you from Ohio?" he yells at them. Everyone laughs and the newbie looks baffled.

Green shirt asks him what his name is.

"Robert," says, well, Robert.

Green shirt goes down the line, asking what everyone's name is. The next guy says, "Robert."

And the next guy, laughing, says, "Robert."

By now I have the feel of things. He's harmless for the time being, so when he asks me, I tell him, "My name's Robert. I'm from Ohio." The table erupts again.

We play and play, and after an hour, I work my way up to about $155 and then start to drop a bit. And the tide has turned for green shirt - I notice that his once big jumbled stacks have turned into smaller unjumbled stacks. He's got about a third left of what he had the last time he hugged the table.

"Oh shit! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Shit..." exclaims green shirt, who has just dumped a drink on the felt.

The pit boss comes over and helps with the clean-up. She's very cool about it all, and it doesn't take long for everything involved in the spill - ice, fluid, cup - to disappear. There's one thing left, though, and biker hipster points it out.

"That looks like a dick," he says, pointing at where the pit boss is sponging things up with a towel. And it does. The dick provides jokes for the next five minutes.

My goal is to take $100 from the session and when I finish my beer, it's time to go. Green shirt is down to about $400, and I think it likely he will lose it all before long.

I color, stand and say to everyone at the table, with a huge shiteating grin, "Fuck Ohio!"

    1 comment:

    1. That picture of the spilled drink made me chuckle. It's the poster child for late night blackjack in Vegas. A plethora of chip stacks. Some players drinking water, some players drinking beer, and one over the top guy sharing his mixed drink with the brightly colored felt. Oh yeah, the ashtray. Adorned with two lime segments and three cigarette butts. Nothing screams Vegas like that picture.



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